


Sharing is Caring

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Sort of - they're double teaming Graves), (more detailed tags to come once I've actually written the porn), Brother/Brother Incest, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Restraints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Inspired by the kinkmeme prompt:Theseus/Newt/Graves BDSM?"Graves has always been a guest of the Scamander's family gatherings, and Newt has always known him as the stoic, no bullshit colleague / best friend of Theseus. Then one night Newt stumbles into Theseus's bedroom to find Graves bound, gagged, aroused, and begging for his brother."I couldn't quite bring myself to include the rape-by-deception part of the prompt, because I had too much trouble reconciling it with my views of Newt. But there will definitely be borderline-incestuous Scamanders-on-Graves threesome action.The in-universeFantastic Beastsbook was commissioned in 1918; this story is set in the summer of 1920.





	

It really wasn’t Newt’s fault he was three hours late to his mother’s forty-ninth birthday. Or that he showed up dripping wet and smelling faintly of pond scum.

Grindylows, he would be sure to mention in his book, were aggressive little buggers. Especially when one tried to relocate one of their nests, which in this case had been entirely too close to the local Muggle population for comfort. At least Windemere was only a few quick apparition stops from home—but that did mean he hadn’t had time to change.

He apparated into the back garden, hoping to make a discreet entrance, but he had barely made it five yards when his mother appeared in the kitchen doorway. Draped in an elegant sleeveless dress, she looked like she hadn’t aged a day. Newt swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“Newton Artemis Fido. What _have_ you been up to this time?”

Newt grinned sheepishly. “Ah. Hello, mother. Sorry I’m late?”

His mother rolled her eyes, drawing her wand. “On second thoughts, I don’t want to know. Come here, let me clean you up.”

Newt tried to hide his smile as he trudged his soggy way across the lawn, wrinkling his nose against the familiar itchiness of his mother’s cleaning spells. By the time he reached the doorway even his socks were dry—although when he looked down, to his dismay, he was wearing a formal suit and bowtie.

“Mother, my _coat_ …”

“Don’t fret, you can have it back later. Leave your case by the back stairs, it’ll be perfectly safe there. And Newt?”

Newt winced. “Yes, mother?”

Pocketing her wand, she pulled him into a tight hug. It took Newt a moment to react—and then he pressed his face into his mother’s hair, smelling hippogriffs and _home_ , and blinked his suddenly-damp eyes. Eighteen months was a long time to be away.

“Welcome home.”

\-- -- --

Walking into the great hall was like stepping back into his childhood. Vases of seasonal flowers decorated buffet tables along the walls, and the whole room was lit by gently flitting lights hovering around the ceiling. Newt grinned, remembering Theseus coming home from his first year at Hogwarts, how proud he’d looked casting his first _lumos orbis_ to help set up for midsummer.

Passing by one of the bouquets, he scooped up a glass of wine and made a note to appropriate some of the larkspur petals to add to his feed mixes. A quick scan of the guests filling the room showed a lot of familiar faces, but looking over the heads of the crowd, there was no sign of his brother’s thick auburn hair.

Trying not to feel too disappointed, Newt took a sip of his wine. Theseus would be here somewhere. In the meantime Newt decided he might as well get the social niceties over with; remembering to smile, he started making his way around the room.

\-- -- --

On the plus side, explaining what a _magizoologist_ was over and over meant he never had to worry about finding something to talk about. But after the sixth or seventh identical conversation, he started finding it harder to keep his focus. He’d made it most of the way through the hall, and there was still no sign of Theseus.

A quick glance confirmed that his mother was mid-conversation with the Longbottom brothers. Excusing himself—hopefully politely enough—Newt set his wine glass down on the nearest table and slipped out of a side door.

Everything was calmer and quieter outside of the great hall. Newt took a moment to breathe, considering where else Theseus might be. As if on cue, a burst of laughter came from the drawing room.

Making his way down the hallway, Newt sidled up to the open door and peeked around the corner.

His father was sitting with a glass of whiskey in hand, surrounded by several witches and wizards Newt recognised as his Auror colleagues. Newt stayed and watched for a minute, smiling as one of the older witches continued telling a story with a lot of animated hand gestures. He only felt a little guilty as he nipped past the door the next time they were all distracted by laughter; he could say hello to his father later.

He headed up the stairs to the first floor, greeting the family portraits—well, the ones that deigned to talk to him. Great-great-aunt Artemis was apparently still sulking about the fact that her namesake had forgone the Scamander family tradition of becoming an Auror. Newt sighed, running his hand over a familiar chip on the banister. It was actually rather comforting to find that so little had changed.

Theseus’s bedroom was at the far end of the first floor—and oddly, his door was shut. Newt frowned as he approached the end of the hall, reaching out to knock gently. “Theece? Are you in there?”

There was no response. Newt knocked again, a little louder, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles partly silhouetting Theseus on his bed, and Newt closed the door behind him to help his eyes adjust.  

It only took a few seconds for him to realise that was definitely _not_ Theseus.

_Percival Graves_ was in Theseus’s bed— _tied_ to Theseus’s bed, blindfolded, with a dark silk sheet just barely preserving his modesty.

Newt swallowed, unable to stop himself staring. Percival Graves: family friend, Auror, war hero. Subject of more of Newt’s teenaged fantasies than he cared to admit. Newt had never seen him in anything less than a carefully-pressed three piece suit.

Now, though, his ankles were spread and tied to the bedposts, his wrists bound above his head as he shifted languidly against the dark sheets. With the candlelight, the silk, Percival’s frankly stunning musculature, it was like something out of the dirty pictures boys had traded back at school.

Something Newt realised with a pang of guilt that he definitely wasn’t supposed to be seeing.

Torn between guilt and arousal, he wrenched his gaze away. He was about to quietly let himself out of the room when he paused. Had Percival been left here alone? Newt certainly wasn’t going to judge his brother’s private life, but that didn’t seem… safe.

He turned back to the bed, gathering his courage, and took a step closer. Tried not to let the candlelight flickering over so much bare skin distract him.

“Ah… hello? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but… just to check, are you all right?”

Percival gave no sign that he’d even heard the question. His head lolled to the side, chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, the muscles of his stomach visibly tensing.

“Percival?” Newt tried again, louder—then realised that although he could see Percival panting, he couldn’t actually hear it. He took another few steps forward, then another, until he felt the subtle shift of passing through a magical field…

Suddenly he could very much hear Percival breathing. Almost gasping, in fact. Could hear the soft creak of leather as he shifted against his bonds. Percival’s right foot twitched and Newt reached out before he could think better of it, carefully turning Percival’s ankle to check the cuff wasn’t cutting into his skin.

Percival let out a long, deep groan that sent shivers down Newt’s spine.

“Merlin’s beard, Scamander.” Percival’s voice was hoarse in a way Newt had never heard it. “What did you do, make a side trip to France?”

Newt froze, hands still on Percival’s ankle, and Percival groaned again, rolling his hips under the sheet.

“For mercy’s sake, if you don’t get over here and _fuck_ me, so help me, you can find yourself another goddamn penpal.”

Before Newt could protest a firm hand clamped over his mouth, another grabbed him by the shoulder, and he was yanked backwards. He caught the beginning of an impressive stream of invective from Percival as he let go of his ankle, and then he was back outside the noise cancelling field, face to face with his brother.

“Newt,” Theseus said slowly. “You made it after all.”

For a moment Newt just stared—then he was hugging Theseus tight, smothering a grin against his shoulder. That lump welled up in the back of his throat again; eighteen months was far, _far_ too long to go without seeing his brother. He felt more than heard Theseus chuckle as he stroked a hand through Newt’s hair.

“All right, all right, I missed you too.” Theseus pushed him back gently, just to arm’s length. His grey-green eyes were glittering, fresh stubble doing absolutely nothing to disguise his familiar smirk, and Newt knew he was grinning back like an idiot. “But seriously, you couldn’t have waited until after I was done with Percy?”

Newt felt his face flush. “Sorry Theece, I—I couldn’t find you in the hall so—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “Not that you’re complaining, though.”

Newt ducked his head guiltily. “Sorry. I can go—we can catch up later.”

Theseus’s thumbs stroked over his shoulders, soothing. “Newt. This is me. Have you ever in your life had a crush I didn’t know about?” He leaned in to whisper. “Go ahead and look, if you like.”

Newt hesitated, breath catching—then huffed, shoving Theseus back a bit. “All right, no need to rub it in.”

Theseus’s grin widened. “Rub what in?”

“The… that you’ve got the most attractive Auror in MACUSA in your bed,” Newt finished grumpily, looking away. Theseus with his sharp jaw, thick dark hair, and lean muscle filling out his slender frame in ways Newt had never been able to match—witches and wizards alike had always thrown themselves at his feet.

Theseus chuckled. “Sorry, little brother. I didn’t mean to tease. Honest!” he protested when Newt just glared, because, _really_.

“Honest,” Theseus repeated, softer. He bit the corner of his lip for a moment, an odd look in his eyes. “If you like what you see… how would you like a turn with him yourself?”

Newt froze. He wasn’t sure whether to take Theseus seriously. Teasing was one thing, but there was no hint of it in Theseus’s voice now. He snuck a sideways glance at the bed just in time to see Percival shift again, the muscles of his long legs flexing as he adjusted his weight. The sheet over his waist slipped a little, revealing another inch of pale thigh, and sending another spike of arousal down Newt’s spine.

He swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. “Um. Don’t you think Percival will want a say in this?”

Theseus grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, we can ask him.” He turned Newt gently by the shoulders, guiding him to face the bed. “But he won’t say no.”

Newt almost laughed, even as he stared longingly at the man on the bed. Easy for Theseus to say.

“Hey.” Theseus gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t you start. I was right about Otto, remember?”

Newt bit his lip. He could hardly forget: half of Hogwarts had had a crush on the Durmstrang exchange student. Not that an awkward fifth year like Newt would have stood a chance with him. Or so he’d thought, until Theseus had dragged Newt into an empty classroom to meet the boy, and to take turns kissing him until they were all late for dinner.

But _Percival Graves_?

“Theece, I… hey!” Newt let out an undignified yelp as he was shoved forward. He caught himself on the foot of the bed, braced between Percival’s spread ankles, and froze.

Percival lifted his head, hair tousled around the blindfold. Newt barely dared to breathe.

“Percy,” Theseus said, tone sharp and firm. Percival grinned.

“Scamander. About damn time.”

\-- -- --

Stepping back from the bed, Newt almost jumped out of his skin when a warm hand pressed against the nape of his neck. He let out an undignified squeak, and Percival frowned.

“Theseus?”

“Percy, there’s been a… complication. May I take your blindfold off?”

It was remarkable how quickly Percival’s body language changed. In one instant he was sprawled leisurely on the sheets; a subtle shift and he was braced against the restraints as though ready to leap off the bed. Heat curled low in Newt’s belly at the way Percival’s muscles tensed—and at how the restraints kept him from actually moving anywhere.

At Percival’s nod, Theseus gestured and the blindfold flew into his hand. Newt looked up, impressed.

“Practice makes perfect,” Theseus said with a wink, then turned back to Percival. Who was now looking back and forth between the two of them with an expression of cautious suspicion.

“Percy, you remember my brother Newt.” Newt ducked his head, hiding his eyes under his fringe. “He’s visiting for our mother’s birthday.”

“Hello, Newt,” Percival said carefully. Newt suppressed a shiver; his tone was suddenly every bit the Austere Auror Percival that Newt remembered.

“Ah… hello,” he managed, before looking back to Theseus.

“Newt happened to stumble in here, and I thought this would be a fantastic opportunity for him to… get to know you better.” Theseus’s hand slid from Newt’s neck to his shoulder, tugging him closer. “Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Newt held his breath. Percival’s eyes widened as he looked between them, and there was a visible twitch under the sheet covering his waist.

Theseus chuckled. “Oh Percy. You like the idea of bedding _brothers?_ ” He slid his hand further over Newt’s shoulder to splay it against his chest. “That’s just _filthy_.”

Newt tensed—Percival was one thing, but he wasn't sure how he felt about—

Percival snorted. “Hardly. But when you bring me one as pretty as this…” he looked Newt up and down, grin spreading across his face again, and Newt felt his cheeks heat up. “I might be convinced. Does he know what he’s doing?”

“He’s a quick learner.” Theseus leaned in to speak right next to Newt’s ear. “I can show him what you like. Teach him to take you apart. Make you beg for him like you do for me.”

Newt closed his eyes for a moment at the mental image, heat rushing to his groin. When he opened them again Percival was staring intently at him, with no traces of his earlier grin. Newt swallowed, and Percival’s eyes flicked down to his throat.

“Yeah,” Percival whispered, hoarse. “Yes, I’m interested.”


End file.
